Small Things
by danceshoes88
Summary: The District Four Quarter Quell Reaping from Annie's point of view. Read her thoughts on the whole situation.


**(A/N: This is just a simply one shot that could potentially turn into more. Takes place at the Quarter Quell reaping in District Four and after. Coralle's (who is like the District Four equivalent of Effie)name is pronounced exactly like Coral, I just wanted a twist on spelling. Irving is Annie's fellow tribute in her games (you know, the one that she witnessed get beheaded). Pearl and Zale are Annie's siblings and this is in Annie's point of view. Thanks for reading!)**

**Annie's POV**

"And this years female tribute from District Four is... Annie Cresta!" Her voice is apprehensive.

No. _No! _It can't be me.

I stare back at Coralle, aghast. My body is still, my feet like lead. There is no way this could have happened.

She knows not to push me, but when I stand there blandly for over five minutes, force is only required. Now, here I am being dragged to the stage by peacekeepers, tears of disbelief and fright stinging my eyes. I can hear Pearl and Zale's sobs, and I spot them almost immediately after taking my place next to Coralle.

And they are the only ones.

Yes, there's Finnick, but can't bear to make eye contact with him right now.

As for everyone else, they are probably all thinking the same thing: _Oh it's just the crazy victor, Annie. It's probably for the best anyways. _Mixed emotions boil inside me like a potluck stew. They all think I'm crazy, but they have not been through what I've been through; seen what I've seen. I'm sure if they have, then we'd all be insane.

"And now for the boys." Coralle's voice is edgy, like this Reaping was not at all what she planned. I glance at her out of my peripheral vision. Each movement is nervous and unpredictable. Trembling fingers unfold the important, yet small piece of parchment and I, myself am not prepared for what is to come.

"Finnick Odair." Coralle's voice cracks. I burst into deafening sobs. The crowd gasps. All the while he slowly trudges to the stage, his emotions hidden behind a painful mask.

I have to kill Finn.

The next few moments are fuzzy, for I can't get the previous thought out of my mind. Mags volunteers for me, and I all I know is that now, I am being hauled off to the capitol to mentor the two tributes in which I know so well and don't ever want to let go of.

Pearl insists I stay here, in Four, with her and Zale; but I can't. I have to see him.

* * *

The train seems so confusing and manipulative when you are desperately trying to find someone within it's many cars. I dash through each one, searching, running so fast that if I didn't wait for the automatic doors to open, I would have slammed into them. I eventually give up on my eyes and switch to vocal searching.

"Finnick!" I scream repeatedly. No reply. An attendant rushes toward me an expression of genuine concern etched onto her face.

"Do you need anything?" she asks. _Yes, _I want to say. _I need you to bring me Finnick, and murder the stupid president that got us into this mess!_ Instead, I completely disregard her presence and continue on with my previous actions.

Then I hear it. The sound of a door opening behind us.

"Annie?" I whip around rapidly, never feeling so relieved to hear his voice.

"Finnick!" Tears of joy and content slide down my cheeks which are flushed from all the running. I bound towards him and embrace his body in a desperate hug. He is the only one that understands, no one else; the rest think I'm insane.

"Finn." I choke. Why does he have to go again? Why can't he just stay in Four? We are Victors. We already won this once, this isn't suppose to happen again.

"Shh, Annie." He strokes my hair in attempt to calm me down. It helps...almost.

Finnick gentle guides me to the next car, which, thankfully is empty. "How did – ? Why?" He doesn't say anything. And I know why.

We are being watched.

No where is safe. There are cameras everywhere. In fact, I can just barely make out the tiny lens in the corner of the wall, to the left of the picture frame.

"Come on, Annie." He grasps my hand, and together we make our way to a destination I would have never predicted – the sleeping car, my assigned bedroom. It is the only place in which we can speak alone, without any disruptions from Capitol attendants and such.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, to which he doesn't reply. Finnick just takes a seat on the bed and gestures for me to sit next to him.

"Listen, Annie I can't talk about any of this, and I am sorry that you got reaped." He stares off at the wall, angrily muttering something about how it was all his fault. It is exactly like the conversation after I got reaped for the 70th games. He kept blaming himself and speaking indirectly, as if I weren't there, actually listening.

Suddenly I'm angry.

"No! Stop it Finn! It's not your fault, it's none of ours. It's all stupid President Snows fault! He's the one that controls it all! That – " Finnick stares at me aghast and wide-eyed.

"Shh. Annie, be careful! He can hear you!"

I normally would stop, but I can't help but thinking of all the people he's killed, mentally and physically. Finnick's parents, Irving, the young tributes from last years games, and countless others. Even the Victors seem dead on the outside sometimes. I'm sure I do. Snow has robbed us of everything we deserved to have: a childhood, family, _sanity._ All these things motivate me to continue on with the harangue.

"I don't care! He won't think anything of it! After all, it's coming from _Annie, _the insane girl from Four who doesn't know what she's talking about!" Each one of my words is dripping with venom, and most of all accusation. Finnick's eyes turn sympathetic. He knows it's true. He knows that everyone finds me mentally ill. But I can't help it, nobody can.

"Annie, I'm sorry." His voice is timid, like that of a small child's. It's in this moment, when I realized Finnick isn't all strong and brave as I thought him to be; there is one emotion he is feeling that dominates all – trepidation.

He is scared. He finally broke. He doesn't know how to fix the problem that lies before us, and not just me and him, Mags too. It's all clear. Then he speaks, "I don't know how I am going to do it... kill Mags." Tears spill over his bottom eyelids, and I can't help but feel hopeless.

Here we are, two broken, clueless, Victors; suppose to symbolize the good, but it is just the antithetic. Not knowing what is going to come next, not knowing how to solve our problems, just... _not knowing. _

He continues. " I could sacrifice myself – "

"No Finn!" The words escape with great cunning. I never intended to say them, even if they are true. I would be selfish to manipulate him into thinking living was his best option as oppose to keeping someone as dear as family member alive, all because I don't want him to plunge into that dark world of demise.

Finnick disregards my plea. "But I couldn't leave you." _What? _I figured he would deny me and focus on Mags, in hopes – of course – that I would be okay without him.

_Mags._

"Finnick, where is she?" He glances at me questioningly. "Mags. Where is she? I never got to thank her."

He smiles, which is almost an entirely absurd action, if it weren't who we were talking about. "I think she's taking a nap." He laughs lightly, and I join in with him. To my surprise, my laughs aren't forced, but only natural. They are smooth and full of actual amusement. Same as Finnick's.

* * *

Our laughter symbolizes so much in this moment and the many to come. Whether the situation is good or bad, it always helps to find those small things. The ones you can laugh about, and share, and remember for the rest of your lives. We are going to get through this, and it will be with the help of those small things.


End file.
